White roses
by FoxTale97
Summary: -Reboot- In a world were Marche never meets Montblanc, he must face the challenges before him alone. As the odds mount against him, Marche finds that his greatest foe is his own wavering heart. Can he bring himself to destroy the world Ritz loves?


Forward:

Hello, my name is Foxtale, and this is a re-write of a very old FFTA fanfic I penned a very long time ago. I hope you enjoy it, and always feel free to comment, and critique. I enjoy feedback, just be constructive.

White Roses

Chapter One: A Coming Storm

Marche carefully made his way down lesser known paths with only his growing uncertainty for company. Winter settled in a few days ago, and already most of the land was blanketed with snow. The first winter since the small town of St. Ivalice was magically transformed into the kingdom of Ivalice bared eerie resemblance to winters back home. Marche missed the feeling of a cup of hot chocolate in his hands, and the aroma of coffee from the kitchen on a snowy day. It was one of the few times his home was calm. Snow would pile over the door and prevent the busy life they were accustomed to from coming inside. Things were always peaceful on a snow day. The quiet of the trail was not as welcome, Marche had his share since his journey began.

Marche wasn't sure if he could change things. If it was even possible to subvert the magic that had transformed a sleepy town into a fantasy land with monsters and mages. Marche wasn't even sure he actually wanted to change it back. The peace of the quiet eve seemed unfit to accompany the storm inside of him. He felt the tension of his uncertainty pulling at every fiber of his being. He only wished he could be absolute in whatever decision he made. Neither choice sat well in his gut only his heart seemed to be sure. A strong sense of duty burned in each step as he forced his body to press on. He knew deep down that this world, this fantasy, was an escape; he knew that he couldn't run from reality. Still something inside of him wanted to try.

The site of Sprohm on the horizon did little to calm his nerves. Civilization, warmth, and food were amenities he direly needed, but the attention he might garner hung heavy in his thoughts. Ever since he successfully managed to destroy the first Totema his face has been blacklisted. Finding honest money, and mercenaries to further his agenda seemed simple before. Too many were wary of him now. The list of people who wanted his head was long, and only growing as he eluded capture. Some days he wished he could get a piece of the bounty on his head. It would get him more than pub gruel.

He couldn't blame people however. He was destroying the very fabric of the world, and he wasn't truly sure it would return them all home. There were many days were he too wished to live in this dream world forever, but something in his soul would not allow it. As much as he used to hate his ordinary life, this world was a lie. No matter how good a dream is, no matter how easy a lie can be, someday, you have to wake up.

Marche slung his hood over his head as he neared the town limits. Caution was never misplaced these days. Fewer holes could be hidden in with each passing day. The judges were cracking down. The Queen was tightening her grip. Everyone didn't appreciate the additional laws, and more present police forces. Unrest simmered at the feet of the town, all of Ivalice was uneasy. Marche wondered if anyone thought what he was doing was the right thing. He yearned for just one person to agree with him, to stand up and help him. He'd even take reassurance. As he stumbled into a hazy pub, he didn't imagine receiving any such condolence. Privacy would be all he could ask for.

A good pub always has places to lay low. A curtained corner, back rooms, places to do what the law does not permit. Like any fine establishment, its all about the connections. Marche had few of those these days, but he had the money to compensate. He carefully made his way to the front desk, and threw a small bag of coins on the counter. The pub master fingered through the change, felt some of the coins, and grinned. "what'll be stranger? looking for good info?" he said promptly. Marche avoided staring at the rotten smile before him. Seedy bars rarely had pretty faces inside or out.

"Looking for some honest work" he said calmly as he eyed the room. Nobody seemed to care for his presence, despite the many wanted poster plastered about.

"How honest?" the man replied, still sliding coins between his ragged fingers. Marche shot a glance around looking for eyes. None met his. A good sign.

"Whatever pays, if you catch my drift," he replied. The man also eyed the room, most likely looking for ears. He grabbed a list from under the desk, as well as a pair of worn glasses.

"well your in luck, some of Baird's men are hitting a convoy in three days, need some hired blades. A local noble needs some rivals done away with, and some materite needs smuggling." He said simply, as if it was all completely moral and legal activity. Marche never enjoyed dirty work, but it was all he could get these days. His face prevented him from more honest clan contracts and hire.

"Baird is getting awful bold lately, whats he offering?" Marche replied, his nerves couldn't handle much more exposure. He'd rather have sheets or a wall between him and the crowd. Thankfully he could blend well, and the hair dye he bought recently seemed to be working. A blonde stands out far more than brunette, and so far no poster had his new hair style. That would probably change soon.

"Baird is expanding his businesses, his little gang is getting big. The contracts negotiable, five percent of the score maybe eight if your good." The pub keep replied, fingering through the paperwork. Baird was one of the few people as infamous as him. He ran a smuggling ring, and controlled a large share of the black market. He had no qualms hiring Marche, he considered it repayment for getting some of the attention off of him. Working for him never sat well with Marche, but it beat being broke.

"Tell him an old friend will be there," Marche said, he slipped the pub keep a few more coins. He felt some eyes on him, probably just curious ones but one could never be sure.

"Got a quiet place, away from the rabble?" he asked, already knowing the answer. The man examined the coinage again. His smile was hard not to stare at. He opened a book that rested on the counter.

"Upstairs on the left, the first room is available," he said. His eyes lingered a few too many moments as Marche made his way upstairs. Hopefully the man wasn't good with recognizing faces.

The chaotic noise of the main floor dissolved as Marche took a seat upon a worn couch inside his private room. He already missed the coins he had parted with. It had been too long since a well paying job had come his way. Work was harder to find these days, and clues to the secret of this world were even more elusive. Here-say about the nature of the Totema came in many varieties. They seemed to be the foundation of the world, representative of the magic that created it. The nature of the beings, and there whereabouts was completely unknown. Defeating them wasn't something people even considered.

In truth, he had only chanced upon them while on a job. It was as if the portal to the first Totema's temple had found him. The small group of bandits he had been with at the time barely put up a worthy fight against the awesome creature. Most didn't make it out of that strange place, and the few that did wanted nothing to do with Marche. Still, fighting magical demi-gods alone would be impossible. His mind had all but given up on that particular problem. How could he convince people to follow him into the unknown to do battle with mystical creatures if he wavered in his resolve?

Marche was so lost in his thoughts he did not hear the servant enter the room. Her voice only shocked his already worn nerves. Any good pub always had pretty maids to serve the special customers. Marche was never particularly attracted to Vienna, but their company was never undesired. however, his young mind had barely began to appreciate women, and he had too many other things to deal with.

"Greetings, do you desire any services this evening?" she said in a subtly seductive voice. Her revealing outfit couldn't even garner Marche's attention for more than a few moments. His naivety did not even permit him to consider what that phrase might actually mean.

"Could I bother you for a kettle of tea? and perhaps some house soup?" he said rubbing his eyes. Exhaustion was beginning to set in without the blistering cold to keep him awake. The Vienna was caught off-guard by his request. Patrons don't typically get a private room to eat food, but money was money.

"I'll see to it, anything else?" she said in a well trained voice. Its effects were lost on a half-sleeping boy. Marche fiddled around in his pocket, not pleased with the lack of sounds it made. He might not make money for some time, he decided against getting more food.

"I think that will do for now," he said with unintended dismissal. If he was in better spirits he might have enjoyed seeing a normally composed maiden awkwardly saunter from the room, still puzzled by the innocent encounter. Marche nearly fell asleep as he fell into the worn couch. He didn't even care that it was no longer plush. Not even the fierce winds, howling against the worn windows stirred him. A storm had settled in over Sprohm, much like it did in the town of St. Ivalice. Marche almost felt like he might wake up in his old bed, away from the world of magic, away from his weary mind, away from the bill he would probably have to pay for sleeping in a private room.

He let his eyes rest for a while, but he was too hungry to sleep. Unrest had become a familiar companion. He never thought he would miss a simple life, miss being nobody. Suddenly snowball fights and being the "new kid" seemed perfect. He wondered if he would ever get home. Doubt was too familiar a feeling.

As he lounged upstairs, a familiar fiery-headed woman strolled into the Pub. No shortage of eyes followed her to the desk. The man at the desk grinned widely. The few teeth he had on display, much to her displeasure. The grimy man took it upon himself to bow.

"How may I be of service madam?" he said in his best charming voice. The woman slung some money on the desk, she had no time for games. She nervously clenched her Rapier. She hated being in such a disgraceful place, but even she knew it was the best place for information in Sprohm. She wished she couldn't feel eyes on her back.

"I'm Looking for some work" she said, flipping her long red hair. She hoped it would reduce the service charge. She hated appeasing a man's mind in such a manner, but hated parting with money more. Especially to company of this variety. The man's eyes burned with venomous glee.

"Of what variety?" he said slyly.

"The kind one might not expect me to seek" she said coyly. As the man fiddled through papers, her eyes wandered to window. She could barely see outside, snow whipped about. It reminded her of home. Those memories only served to stir the nausea she felt overcoming her. She never wanted to be go back to that place.

"Fierce storm we have coming in," the pub keep said as he dropped some papers on the table.

"Fitting," she said under her breath.


End file.
